Page 94 of The Followers

He didn’t respond. His jaw was rock-hard. His right knee, the one the gun was resting on, twitched.

“Liv,” Jeremiah said. “Why don’t you tell him what you told me in the car?”

Liv took a breath, ready to say all the words she’d rehearsed on the drive—about leaving Durango, promising to never contact him or Molly or Ella again, to never breathe a word about this to anyone. Instead, out came something that surprised her.

“I want to know Ella.”

Scott blinked. The jittering in his right knee stopped. “Come again?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she said. “I just want Ella in my life. That’s all.”

Jeremiah stared at her, his mouth open, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. She needed to speak her truth—and this was it.

“I grew up without much of a family, and it always felt like a giant blank space inside me. I think Ella has an empty space, too. I want a relationship with her.”

“How exactly does that look to you, in this fantasy world of yours?” Despite his scornful words, Scott sounded interested.

Liv swallowed, glancing at the gun, then back up to Scott’s face. “I’m not sure. For a while I thought I could keep pretending, maybe settle down in Durango. Watch Ella grow up.” She didn’t glance at Jeremiah, because she was certain he would see in her face what she wasn’t saying—everything she had hoped would work out with him, too. “I know that was stupid, and not just because it would never work. But because I don’t want a relationship based on a lie.”

Again, she avoided looking at Jeremiah.

“You want Ella to know the truth?” Scott’s hand tightened on the gun.

“Put the gun down, Scott.” Jeremiah’s voice held a warning. “We’re just having a conversation.”

Scott glared at him, then nodded. He set the gun on the chair next to him—a small, purple chair Liv could imagine Ella sitting in, roasting marshmallows and chatting with her dad.

“Where’s Ella now?” she asked.

Scott jerked his chin toward the Westfalia. “Asleep.”

“What did you tell her about why you were taking off?” Ella was a perceptive child. She must know something was wrong.

Scott sat forward, running his hands through his sand-colored hair. “I told her we needed some time alone. I haven’t told her the official plan. I’m still trying to work that out myself.”

If Scott hadn’t fully decided what to do, there was a chance he might go back home. Liv ran her palms along her thighs, steadying herself. “You asked if I want Ella to know the truth. I don’t think that’s my place—you’re her father. You need to decide how much to tell her, and when. But I do think you could start with some truth. For starters: that I’m her aunt.”

“And how do we explain you reentering her life?” Again, Scott sounded interested, if wary.

“We could keep it simple,” she said. “Say we lost touch with each other when you moved away, that I’d like to get to know her now.”

Scott appeared to be considering that. “That’s a possibility. I’m not saying it’s for sure. But I’m open to it.”

Liv felt a tentative smile stretching her lips, the first since this entire mess had come out. “That’s fine—we don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

“We do, actually,” Jeremiah said.

She and Scott both looked at him as if they had forgotten he was there. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at Scott. “You need to face up to what you did to Molly. I told you from the beginning not to get involved with her—with anyone. But you did, and now you can’t just disappear on her. Do you understand?”

Scott closed his eyes. “I know.”

Jeremiah leaned forward, and Liv averted her eyes. She felt like she was observing something she had no business watching.

“Scott,” Jeremiah said, then shook his head. “Sam. Look at me.”

Scott’s eyes flicked open, dark and haunted in the dim light.

“Haven’t you punished yourself enough?” Jeremiah’s voice was quiet, serious. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but can you forgive yourself?”

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